


A Realignment of Values

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Community: sherlockkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There will be other rituals. That's not-" Henry pauses, lets out a short, sharp breath. "That's not what's important."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Realignment of Values

**Author's Note:**

> For the challenge over at shkinkmeme : _How does a person know when another loves them? (No H/W)_

The water flares up, wildly brilliant, pours over the rim of the bowl and down his arms, flickering. He gasps and starts, but stills himself; _don't drop it, no matter what you see_, and he won't disappoint Henry, he won't, never mind that it feels more like fire than water.

He's watching the curiously colored flames, not Henry, so it startles him even more when Henry steps forward and knocks him back. The bowl slips; he makes a grab for it and misses. It falls to the floor, shatters, the blue flickers spattering across the stone, and he falls back as well. He catches himself, and his arms scream a protest; he manages to muffle his own scream, but jerks his hands away, falling the rest of the way to the floor, cool against his face. He turns his head, and under his cheek are the painted lines of ritual; he's broken the circle.

Two sharp steps, and he's being rolled over. "Are you hurt?"

He blinks up at Henry; there's something wrong in the set of his face, a dark smudge high on his cheek. "I broke the circle," he says, and Henry's lips tighten.

"Never mind that," he says, harshly, and wraps his hands around Nicholas' arms. "Are you-" only to break off sharply as Nicholas gasps at the flare of pain where Henry touches him.

Henry curses, language much more suited to criminals and lowlifes than lords. His hands shake as he eases back the cuffs of Nicolas's sleeves, exposing the reddened skin. "This shouldn't have happened," Henry mutters. Nicholas closes his eyes. _He must be furious. _

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Henry's hands still, but he says nothing. The silence hangs for a beat longer than Nicholas thinks it should; he babbles on to fill it. "I must have lost control, lost focus for a moment. The blame is mine. I'm-"

Henry cuts him off. "Don't."

He's silent as Henry turns his hand over, fingertips barely brushing the livid skin. Henry examines them far longer than Nicholas thinks he needs too. Finally, Henry sighs, both of Nicholas's hands cradled between his; he stares at them, and Nicholas bites his lip and looks away.

"Why didn't you let go when it burned you?"

Nicholas looks up; this isn't the question he expected to hear. "You told me not to drop it," he says, slowly, slightly bewildered. Henry's hands tighten on his, ever so slightly.

"But it was causing you pain."

"You told me not to drop it."

Henry drops his hands, rises in one terse movement. He stalks over to the remains of the bowl, crouches down and stirs the wetly beaded shards, as though he's looking for something. Nicholas sits up, pulls his knees in close and rests elbows and forehead on them, staring into the temporary darkness. He still doesn't know where it wrong, but there must have been something he did, and Henry's been waiting so long for this. He dropped the bowl, and then he broke the circle; he had _felt_ the power draining away, had tasted the metallic tang to the air it left behind. His fault, and still Henry hadn't said a word of blame, though he must be almost beyond rage. "I'm sorry," he says again, muffled. "Henry, I'm _sorry_."

There's silence from across the room, and Nicholas feels like an idiot; Henry trusted him not to mess up, and look at what that's brought him.

"Nicholas."

He looks up. Henry is standing before him, staring at him with something unfamiliar, something nearly frightening in his face. He reaches down, almost grabs Nicholas's wrist before he seizes his upper arm instead, and pulls him to his feet. Nicholas sways, and Henry grips his arm tighter, enough to leave bruises. "Stop," he says. "The ritual isn't important."

Nicholas starts. "Of course it is, you've-"

"There will be other rituals. That's not-" Henry pauses, lets out a short, sharp breath. "That's not what's important. If you'd, if you'd been seriously hurt…" He raises on hand to rest against Nicholas's jaw, presses their foreheads together so he's unable to look him in the eye, and this is something Nicholas has never seen from Henry, not in public, not in private, not when they lie tangled on fine sheets, not when Henry pushes him up against a wall and kisses him hard.

Henry breathes out against Nicholas's lips, "If I'd had to do this without you, I don't- That's what's important." He can hear what Henry can't say, _You're important_, and he doesn't know what to say in reply. Doesn't know how to answer when he's finally, _finally_, been given a little hope.

They stay like that, sharing breath and heartbeats for a moment, for two, and then Henry pulls away, turns back to the scattered shards. Nicholas follows, only now there's something other than guilt lodged in his chest, something far warmer and brighter.


End file.
